The light of dawn seeped through the curtains, casting the room in a muted glow that softened the sharp angles of the furniture and walls. I’d been awake for exactly twenty-three minutes, my internal clock as precise as ever, but I hadn’t moved. Not a single muscle.
Shorty slept curled against my chest, her breathing deep and rhythmic. I couldn’t get over how transformed her face was in sleep—the fierce, guarded woman who had challenged me at every turn replaced by someone younger, more vulnerable. The perpetual tension in her jaw had relaxed, her lips slightly parted. Her dark lashes rested against her cheeks, and her closed eyelids hid the sharp intellect and vigilance usually present.
I studied the curve of her shoulder, the delicate bow of her collarbone, but I didn’t allow myself to trace it, not even with the lightest touch of my fingertips. She needed her sleep.
I closed my eyes. Her skin was warm and impossibly soft against mine. I focused on her regular breathing while last night replayed in my mind—her whispered confessions, her trust, her body moving with mine. The sound she made when she came?—
Holy fuck, she was one sexy package.
I forcibly redirected my thoughts to what would be waiting for us. Our security measures needed to be changed. I should verify that Roman had updated the rotation. Only trustworthy people would be allowed close to Isabella and her family. We needed to establish and coordinate exactly how to move forward, as well. I needed to get my siblings up to date with what Isabella told me. There were contingency plans to formulate, exit strategies to?—
Isabella shifted against me, her leg sliding between mine, unconsciously seeking closer contact. My body responded immediately. So much for tactical thinking.
Being close to her trumped everything.
I could wake her with kisses. Trail my mouth down her throat, across her breasts, lower still until she woke up gasping my name. My hand slid to her hip, my fingertips pressing lightly into her skin before I caught myself.
No. She needed rest. After everything she’d been through—the kidnapping, Grey’s manipulations, the truth serum, the sex—she needed sleep more than I needed her. I forcibly softened my grip, returning to that feather-light touch that wouldn’t disturb her.
I would allow myself five more minutes in this moment. Five minutes to pretend we were normal people without histories soaked in violence, without enemies at the gates,without the weight of organizations and families and vendettas and unknowns pressing down on us.
Five minutes to memorize the exact feeling of her against me. To memorize her scent. Just in case.
A soft knock at the door shattered the fragile peace.
I was instantly alert, my hand already reaching for the weapon on the nightstand before my conscious mind registered the familiar pattern of the knock—our signal—three light taps followed by a pause, then two more.
Isabella stirred but didn’t wake, a testament to her exhaustion.
I pulled the blanket up so Isabella’s creamy skin was hidden from view.
The door opened just enough for me to see Anton’s face.
Anton’s expression was carefully neutral, but his eyes couldn’t hide the surprise as he took us in. His gaze slid past me toward Isabella, then back to my face. A slight, knowing smile tugged at his mouth before he suppressed it. If the circumstances were different, I might have tried to hide her, might have appreciated at least an attempt at discretion.
But our position, state of undress, and the unmistakable context it suggested—who was I kidding?—there was no use in hiding anything.
I glared at him anyway, which sadly didn’t wipe the smug smile from his face.
“What is it?” I kept my voice low.
“Grey is here,” Anton said, his tone conveying the urgency his smug expression masked. “He’s demanding to see you. Now.”
My hatred for Grey, already a constant companion, intensified. Not just for what he’d done to Isabella, not just for his obsessive fixation on her, but for this specific intrusion—invading the single peaceful moment I’d allowed myself in forever.
I nodded once, sharply. “Give me thirty seconds.”
Anton stepped back and closed the door.
Isabella was still asleep.
I carefully extracted myself from her embrace, easing a pillow into the space where my body had been. The sight of her dark hair spread across my pillow, her body curled under my sheets, burned itself into my memory. Her hand reached out unconsciously, fingers curling into the fabric as if seeking me even in sleep. Something twisted in my chest at the sight.
I leaned down and pressed my lips to her forehead in a gesture so foreign to me, I nearly startled at my own action. Her skin was warm against my mouth, and I lingered for a heartbeat longer than necessary.
“Sleep,” I whispered though she couldn’t hear me. “I’ll handle this.”
I got dressed, my movements precise despite the turmoil beneath the surface, then I moved silently to the door. I slipped out and closed and locked the door behind me. Anton was waiting, his stance casual but alert. Behind him, the hallway was empty—a small mercy.
